


All Roads Lead Home

by 8Lbs



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Murder Mystery, Serial Killer, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8Lbs/pseuds/8Lbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn’t believe he had done it— all fifty states with nothing but the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet.</p>
<p>After losing his friend and being honorable discharge from the military Sam packs a duffle bag with his most important belonging and hits the road. It had been Riley dream to take a road trip across all fifty states so despite being down one wingman Sam takes the first car his credit allows and hits the road. What he doesn't anticipate is meeting a man with a metal arm and blue eyes as distant as his brown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The car, a 2003 Pontiac Grand Am, bobble up and down absorbing every bump, dip, and groove in the road. If Sam wasn’t driving he would be tempted to throw both hands up and scream like he was on a roller-coaster. Instead with one hand he reaches back and grabs his CD binder. He alternates between looking up at the unfamiliar snowy mountain road and down at his lap as casually flips to M’s. The car swerves over the yellow line into the left lane as his finger brush over the plastic covering. He lets out a triumph, “Yes,” that’s accompanied by a fist bump. As far as he is concerned, there are only three people; John Coltrane, Marvin Gaye, and Miles Davis that has defined what we as a culture are going through at any point and time through song.  
  
He smiles, pride pools in his gut as he pops in Marvin Gaye “Trouble Man” soundtrack. It’s the same pride he had back in the 3rdgrade when first heard Dr. Martin Luther King  _I have a dream speech_ or when he had to write a report on James Cleveland Owens in freshmen English.

  
_"I come up hard baby, but now I'm cool. I didn't make it sugar, playin' by the rules.”_  
  
Sam fingers drum the steering wheel as Gaye's voice washes over him. For Sam, there's no sound like it the way Marvin Gaye sang so softly, almost gently — but also with so much power that came straight from the heart.  
  
_“I'm checkin' trouble sugar, movin' down the line. I come up hard baby, but that's okay. Cause trouble man, don't get in my way.”_  
  
Sam mouths the lyrics under his breath the words hit him harder than a ton of bricks. He couldn’t believe he had done it— all fifty states with nothing but the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet. Anything else he bought on the way never lingering in one place long enough to pick out of a lineup.  
  
An honorable discharge is what the official release form stated. What the paper didn’t state was a liability or unfitted for duty, he knows because he looked, going over the forms with a fine tooth comb. Two tours and watching Riley's damn ass get knocked out the sky cram into a little white box with a black checkmark running through it. So Sam took the severance pay and pack a duffle bag with his most important belonging. It had been Riley dream to take a road trip across all fifty states so despite being down one wingman Sam takes the first car his credit allows and hits the road.  
  
_“There's only three things that for sure taxes, death, and trouble. This I know baby, this I know sugar girl ain’t gon let it sweat me, babe."_  
  
Now he was coming home not to D.C, but the air force academy where it all started. Riley dog tags are a comfortable weight underneath his olive green shirt. The only thing that has kept him grounded the whole trip.  
  
Sam GPS flashes, he is twenty minutes from his destination. The drive from Las Vegas to Colorado took the average driver eight hours, but he with little more than twenty minutes to go had managed to make in under seven. Neither a killer headache, exhaustion nor a little snow storm has slowed him up so far.

* * *

Johann Shmidt hears a muffled pop before the car suddenly didn’t want to steer straight. Hands clenched on the steering wheel, he quickly glanced in the rearview mirror. There is only one car following behind and no-one ahead of him. Normally U.S 50 coming into the intersection of Main and Oak was a well-travelled road, but not this late at night and not in a snowstorm.  
  
Wanda head bounces against the car window slowly drawing her from the depths of oblivion to the realm of consciousness. Her vision is blurred, she blinks, trying to bring her surroundings into focus. The feeling of pins prickling her skin shoots up and down her body, she has felt this sensation before like her brain is issuing a warning to her nerves telling them to wake up. She tries to move, but she can’t. What had happened - how had she got here - where was here - why were they...? So many thoughts scrambled themselves to the surface in a panic that a thin film of perspiration began to form on her brow and upper lip. Fear is setting in and there was nothing Wanda could do to stop it, nothing reassuring, came to mind, no comforting words or thoughts.  
  
A sniffling sound from the right has Shmidt seeing red. “Halt den Mund Schlampe. “ Shmidt hiss backhanding her across the face. Wanda head snaps back bouncing off the car side window her groan is muffled by duct tape across her mouth.    
  
The Lexus makes another sound sort of a distant gablube and veers into the left lane. Pulse racing he straighten out the car and checks the rearview mirror again. The tail end of the Lexus seemed to be sinking on the right side a flat tire no doubt, but something else catches Shmidt eyes in the mirror.  
  
A pair of livid eyes attached to a gruesome red face.  
  
The smell of burnt flesh fills his nostrils Shmidt doesn’t need to look back to know **he’s** there. Lurking in the shadows watching, waiting for him to mess up so he can take over. But he won’t mess up, has he been good boy found the perfect offering all by himself. Now all he had to do clean her up wash the horrible filth from her face and then he would gut her like a fish.  
  
Wanda violently thrashes about trying to break free of her bonds. She cries, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Pietro,” She croaked weakly. Her brother, where was her brother?  
  
“Vill you be quiet!” He brings his hand up again Wanda close her eyes and grimaces, bracing for some sort of impact that would cause excruciating pain.  But it never comes. The Lexus hit a patch of black ice, sending the car skidding down the road.

* * *

 

 _The sound of metal hitting metal crushes the air. It happens in bullet time one second Sam is coming out of a bend in the road the next a car slam into his passenger’s side door. The impact sends_ _Pontiac spinning off the road into an embankment of snow._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James blink then blinks again. Nothing had prepared him deep raspy rumbling of the other man's voice. Or the inviting brown eyes that gazed at him, totally captivating him with their directness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be posted on 9/14/15.

_Dispatch: “Attention all available units, a two vehicle 10-46 at the intersection of Main and Oak. EMS has been notified but are unable to make it up the mountainside due to heavy snow.”_  
  
“Main and Oak”, James repeats, he sits up straighter in the driver seat and turns the volume up on his two-way radio. Blinding snow blows horizontally across the deserted road, obscuring his view and blasting the side of his police cruiser. He had just turned onto Main and Oak and as far as he could tell hasn’t driven past any wrecks.  
  
_Dispatch: “208, do you copy?” Natasha, voice echoes throughout the cruiser._  


With one hand, he unhooks the radio microphone there a hiss of static before he clicks over.  
  
  
_James: “This is 208. I’m heading that way now.”_  
  
  
_Dispatch: “10-4 . . . . , There’s a brief pause and crackle of static before Natasha adds, the first sign of trouble you radio for backup. You hear me solider.” Natasha, voice loses all professionalism and dips into something warmer and James can’t help but smile._  
  
_James: “Will do Tasha, will do.”_  
  
James continues down the road, eyes alert, scanning the area for any sign of a wreckage. He barely catches the yellow warning sign indicating a sharp turn to the right, he slows down and spins the steering wheel all the way to the right as he comes out of the bend in the road a car swerves into his lane. Caught in the glare of its headlights, a split second decision has James slamming hard on his brakes. He spins his wheel, fighting the momentum of his powerful ford excursion and the road’s slippery surface as the other vehicle misses him by inches and continue into the night.   
  
“Fucking tourist.” James snarls, his heart beating profusely in his ear. Judging by the license plates that speed past him in a blur of moving red, he chalks it up to almost six years on the force for being able to make out the California tag. It was probably some rich college kid on spring break driving a fancy sports car that was unequipped for the extreme weather condition of the Colorado Rockies.  
  
James was about to turn on his siren and chase after the speed demon when he notice up ahead buried in an embankment of snow is another car. The fucker wasn’t speeding, but fleeing from the scene of a car crash. Cold sweat trickles down his back as he pulls over and leaps out.  
  
The sound of snow crunching underneath duty boots and a horn blaring fills the otherwise silent mountain air.  
  
James rips open the car door and shines his flashlight inside. The only occupant is the driver, an African-American male, slumped over the wheel. “Please be alive… please be alive… please be alive . . . - James chants over and over again like a mantra in his head. Fingers shaking, he checks the man pulse and releases his breath when he feel it beating strongly against his fingertips.  
  
Sam groans and tries to lift his head, but it’s too heavy. His vision fades in and out, he blinks, trying to bring the world into focus when a strong voice cuts through the haze like a beacon in the night. “Careful now,” James soothes easing Sam away from the steering wheel and collapsed air bag.   
  
The horn stops blaring and Sam opens his eyes, but his gaze is unfocused. His eyes jerk back and forth involuntarily and James lowers his light and leans in close he doesn’t smell any alcohol on his breath, thank God. “Hey, hey, stay with me buddy,” James says as Sam begins to sway, he presses lightly on Sam collar bone steadying him. James takes in his injuries, a split lip, dry blood on the side of his face from a cut above his temple, and heavy bruising around his left eye socket.  
  
James returns to his vehicle and radios S.H.I.E.L.D. Communication center. There is an ominous crackle of static before he patch through, “This is Winter Soldier 1,” he barks, panic rising in his throat. “I need an ambulance 10 kilometers north of Main and Oak.”  
  
“No can do rookie,” the operators say and James grimaces immediately recognizing the assertive voice as the former deputy sheriff Maria Hill. “Roadways are still blocked heading up that way, heavy snow and black ice have triggered a series accidents backing up major routes in an out of town. It will at least be an hour, hour and a half, tops before we can get EMS up there.” She reports, her words short and to the point and does nothing to alleviate hard ball of ice forming in the pit of his stomach.  
  
James looks heavenward and curse. He runs a hand through his hair and swallowed hard. Panicking was out of the question. He never panicked, that's how he earned the nickname The Winter Solider because even in the most spine-chilling hair rising of situation he able to keep cool calm and collected head. And even if he was slightly tempted, falling apart would simply have to wait until he had the time.  
  
Another flutter of nervousness winged itself from his throat to his heart, and James inhale deeply and swallows hard, forcing it down.  Calling for help was not an option. He brakes connection with dispatch and grabs a spare blanket from the trunk and returns to the man side. “It’s going to be okay. The ambulance is on its way as we speak,” James assures him. The lie leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as he tucks the blanket around Sam shivering body.  
  
“Naw man, Sam shakes his head no, ain’t nothing making it through that white bullshit.” He stutters, teeth chattering uncontrollably from the cold. James blink then blinks again. Nothing had prepared him deep raspy rumbling of the other man's voice. Or the inviting brown eyes that gazed at him, totally captivating him with their directness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things you should suspend your disbelief on in this chapter round 2:  
> 1) I literal had to type into google how to write a police radio conversation. Found out something interesting though A police code is a number abbreviation for a crime, incident or instructions for a police officer it can vary by state to state or even city by city. So in this story a 10-46 is a wreck with injuries and 10-4 simply mean yes, I understand your message.
> 
> As always please leave a comment or a kudos.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Does it still count as rescuing damsels in distress if it’s a guy,” James said flatly. Tally seems to have enough of his petting strides across the room and jumps onto the living room window sill. 
> 
> “If that's your cup of tea,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

James bare feet pads across the wooden floor of his bedroom. He stops by the door frame his elbows are straight, chest up, shoulders back, and eyes trained on the bar above. He has a baseball grip, one hand supinated, and one hand pronated on the metal bar.  
  
“1.”  
  
“2.”  
  
“…3,” James grunts.  
  
His body dips down feet barely touching the floor before pulls himself back up so his chin resting well above the bar. It's early morning darkness still engulfs the room as does his warm up set. After finishing his first set, 25 pull up, he switches hand position so both palms are facing him. He drops his prosthetic arm and begins a set of one arm chin-up keeping the pulling arm close to his body so that the upper arm came in contact with the side of his body.  
  
A sliver of perspiration began to glisten his brow, his breath comes out in short pants, and he could feel the muscle in the shoulder and forearm quivering a sign his grip strength is faltering. As James focus on busting out the last ten chin-up the events from the night before replay in his mind like an old film reel.   
  
Samuel Thomas Wilson. James shakes his head and snorts the name didn’t suit the man at all he look more like a Sam than a Samuel. But James didn’t have much to go on other than what he found inside a wallet lying on the passenger floor of his SUV. He hadn’t wanted to move him. Didn’t want to be responsible for injuring the man further, but after the first forty minutes flew by in a haze of keeping the man awake, coherent, and warm with no sign of help on its way James made the ultimate judgment call.  
  
**(Flashback)**  
  
 James reaches in, unclips Sam seat belt and maneuvers the man out of the car. It's no easy feat seeing how solid the man is built, but James is no lightweight either, so he lifts him up leaning most of Sam bulk on his prosthetic arm and drags them to his car. After placing Sam precariously on his passenger seat, he fastened the seat belt around him. “We’ll be there soon.”  He reassures, climbing into the driver seat. He almost misses the, “Ok…ay Riley,” Sam mumbles in response.  
  
James does a double take the question who is Riley dies in his throat. Sam is slumped against the seat back, his eyes closed. The speed James travels to get to Stark hospital had he been pulled over he would have been suspended without pay indefinitely.  
  
The hospital, named after some bigwig in New York, is a monumental structure that to James look more like a high-rise than an actual hospital. He pulls up to the hospital emergency room entrance. Standing off to the side of the automatic door is a large bronze statue of a man the town founding father Stan Lee riding a horse with one hand on the reins the other extended forward.                                                                                                          
The plaque simply reads Excelsior.  
  
James had called the hospital on the way there, but still is surprised when a medical team with a gurney emerges from the sheltering warmth of the building. He’s out and opening the passenger door before they reach the vehicle. Recognizing several members of the team, James nods to them as they take charge of the situation.  Some of the tension in his shoulders eased as Sam opens his eyes and looks around, disoriented.  
  
The door whooshed open again and for the first time tonight James feels a semblance of control when Dr. Bruce Banner, the man who rehabilitated him and attached his prosthetic arm, strides up to the gurney. “You did well, Buck.” Banner said, clasping his hand into James. Banner looks straight into his eyes, fluster James looks away and mumbles, “Just doing my job,” with a shrug of his shoulders.  
  
 Banner doesn’t call him on it doesn’t state the obvious that his job ended when he radio for help instead he push up his glasses that never seem to be perched right on his nose and with his index finger he makes a whirling motion gesturing for his team to wrap this up.  
  
**(End of Flashback)**

After he got home bone-weary with exhaustion, he took a few minutes to recover his equilibrium with a shot of whiskey, then radioed the state highway patrol and ask them for an accident investigation and to have “ _Samuel”_ car towed _._  
  
“Meow.”  
  
The cat, an American bobtail named Tally, lands on James' chest with an oomph and purrs loudly. He rolls his eyes fondly and gives up any hope of finishing his boxer crunches. “You hungry girl.” He coos finger scratching under her chin.  
  
His cell rings. He snatches it off the kitchen counter and tips kibble into Tally dish. He doesn’t recognize the number, but still unlocks the screen with a single right swipe.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
Heavy wet breathing like a chest heaving rapidly invades his ear. James blood froze at the congestive sound each breath seems to drip down his back like molasses. He cringes. “Hello?” James snaps brows furrow.  
  
The line goes dead abruptly.  
  
James lower the phone away from ear and stares down incredulity at the device. He wants to shrug off the call as a simple case of wrong number or butt dialing, but it had felt deliberated almost personal the way disembodied voice teeters on the edge of recognition. James scrubs his hand over his face he needed coffee bad, and lots of it.  
  
James pours himself a cup of coffee; thankfully it was ready since it had been set to brew when his alarm went off at six. He is adding a healthy amount of sugar, 4-5 packets when his phone vibrates again this time he recognizes the number.  
  
“What do you want Punk,” James smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. Tally wounds herself around his legs, her head persistently rubbing against the leg of his sweatpants. She purrs loudly demanding his attention.  
  
“A little spider told me you spent the night rescuing damsels in distress,” James rolls his eyes at blatant humor in his childhood friend and partner Steve Rogers’s voice. He bends down and scratches behind Tally ears, her claws retracting from his leg immediately.  
  
“Does it still count as rescuing damsels in distress if it’s a guy,” James said flatly. Tally seems to have enough of his petting strides across the room and jump onto the living room window still.

“If that's your cup of tea,” Steve says matter-of-factly.  
  
It is very much his cup of tea.  
  
They talk for a few more minutes James finishes his cup of coffee and rinse the mug out in the sink, they agree to meet up Shawarma Palace for breakfast. He showers and dress in his uniform; a black dress shirt, black tie, black slacks, utility belt, and duty boots. He clipping on his badge when he spots Sam wallets in a bowl by the front door with his car keys in it.

Eyes like sunlight shining through whiskey flashes in his head.  
  
James shivers and scoops up the wallet and car keys. If he wanted to see the man again returning his wallet was as good an excuse as any.

* * *

_“_ Thwup _-_ thwup _-_ thwup _-_ thwup _.”_  
  
_The sound of a helicopter moving overhead, its rotors slicing through the air. Riley looks over his shoulder at Sam and nods with a carefree smile on his face. A smile Sam had seen a thousand times before it got knocked out of the damn sky._  
  
_He moves, but the small distance between them suddenly turns into the hallway from the shining and Riley jumps. He keeps charging forward, but the hallway lengthens and narrows with each step he takes.The deafening whistle of an RPG whizzing through the air, then without warning Riley body lands in front of Sam with a bone-crunching thud **.**_  
  
Sam wakes with a start, he squeezes eyes shut against the painful memories that threaten to overwhelm him. He counts backward from ten. When he reaches one the piercing whistle of an RPG whizzing through the air isn’t ringing in his ears and smell of burnt flesh leaves his nostrils.  
  
He looks around the room the smell of rubbing alcohol permeates the air. Sam stretches his arms above his head and is rewarded by a sharp twinge in rib. He groans in pain, alerting a nurse walking by. She pokes her head into the room. “Oh, you’re awake!” Sam raises a brow at the surprise in her tone, “Should I not be?” He thinks.  
  
The nurse who introduces herself as Claire Temple flips through his charts humming softly from the back of her throat.  She places the chart back on the table beside the bed, her smile not quite reaching her brown eyes. “The doctor will be in one moment until then you can relax, read, watch a little TV, or just rest.” And just like that she leaves her pink scrubs doing nothing to accentuate her back side. She closes the door behind her and Sam stares up at the ceiling.

Scattered memories from the previous night surfaced. A car headlights blinding him, excruciating pain, and the distant sound of a siren. Sam rolls onto his side suddenly resting sounded like a pretty good idea. He drifting between the haze of sleep and awake when another vague memory surface. Tall, slim-hipped, with neatly trimmed dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be posted this upcoming Monday, but I got bit by the writing bug and literal couldn't stop writing. There are going to be allot of marvel cameo in this story some are going to brief others are going help to propel the story forward.
> 
> As always please leave a comment and or Kudos.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banner raises his hand, silencing the man. “Dog tags are like photos, sometimes it’s the only memory we got.”

Sam jabs his fork dubiously into the gelatin desert the rest of the bland hospital food is left untouched on the ceramic tray. The fan above him spins in a continuous rotation a heart monitor and other various hospital equipment ticks and beeps offsetting the otherwise bleak and quiet room. Sam wonders about the stranger. Would he ever see him again?  
  
Better question why did he want to see him again? Sam has led a solitary existence since the sudden death of his best friend. He went through all the necessary motions during the road trip. Went to all big roadside attractions, took pictures when it was needed— even smile in a couple, and bought little trinkets and cards that read  _I Wish You Were Here_  In bold italics for his family and friend. But behind closed door away from the prying eyes of strangers, he is far from okay. Every time a car backfire, he would hit the floor crawling army style under the motel bed for protection. Some night, it's easy to remember that the itchy carpet under his bare feet is not grainy sand other night not so much. Then there are the heart-stopping, gut-wrenching nightmares that leave him soak in sweat and other sticky substances.  
  
Sam scrubs a weary hand over his face his mother didn’t raise an ungrateful fool. He owes the stranger a life debt and should at the least write a note of thanks before he skips town.

A light, sharp knock at the door has Sam pushing the ceramic tray aside, he sits up straighter before inviting his caller in. The doctor comes striding in the buttons of his lab coat is undone causing the flaps to fan out behind him and his black shoes squeak against the glossy tiles. The doctor pushes his glasses up. “I’m Dr. Bruce Banner.” He smiles warmly introducing himself. Sam nods and Banner take it as a cue to continue.  
  
“You don’t seem to have suffered any damage, Banner pauses, then continue, well nothing life threatening at least. Just a couple of nicks and scraps from the car accident.” Banner says, clicking a pen flashlight. Sam pupils dilate a reaction to light being shined in his eyes. Which is a very good sign considering the head trauma he endured last night. Usually if someone comes in after a head injury Banner makes sure to really get a good look at a patient eye to make sure that pupils are equal, because if they're not, it can be a sign of something potentially serious in the brain. That is affecting the brain's ability to send messages to the eye to have that pupil squeeze down and constrict. This can be an indication of bleeding in the brain — which thankfully wasn’t the case here. He grabs Sam chart and scribbles P.E.R.R.L onto it.  
  
“Does that mean I can check out today?” Sam asks hopefully, he takes a deep breath in, the stethoscope is cold against his skin. Banner shakes his head no. “I need to run a few more tests just as a precaution. Your CT scans haven't come back yet and I would like a chance to look at them before I give you the green light.” Banner winds up his stethoscope and slips it in the pocket of his white jacket. His fingertips brush against mental grooves and a lightbulb clicks on in his head.  
  
Banner perches himself on the side of the Sam bed, his glasses have slipped down a couple of inches again. “Ah. I almost forgot this", Banner mutters cryptically before pulling out by the necklace chain a pair of familiar military tags. Engrave into the metal is the air force emblem, Riley name, and the 58th Rescue Squadron. The once pristine tags are now warped and scorched from the heat of the blast.   
  
A hot burning knife of guilt twists inside of Sam gut. Bruised ribs be damn! He leans forward and snatches Riley tags out of Banner hands. The heat continues to burn in his gut as he puts the chain around the only place it belongs — his neck. “Sor…ry that was rude…,” Sam chokes back a sob.  
  
Banner raises his hand, silencing the man. “Dog tags are like photos, sometimes it’s the only memory we got.” Understanding blazes in Banner’s dark chestnut eyes.  He squeezes Sam knee caps reassuringly and ask, “Is there anything else you need? I’ll send Claire, the nurse from earlier in, with a couple of ibuprofen for those bruised ribs. Sound good?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam replies tight lip.  
  
Banner pager vibrates. “Duty calls,’’ He announces getting up and leaving the room.  
  
\---

So what does this damsel look like?” Steve inquire putting the SUV into park. They have just arrived at Stark hospital after having a hardy breakfast at the Shawarma Palace, where James was surprisingly tight- lipped about the mysterious strangers.   
  
“He looks like an ass-kicking if you don’t leave me the hell alone,” James grumbles and Steve throws his head back and lets out a throaty chuckle. “Besides didn’t Natasha already tell you?” James asked sarcastically while getting out the car. Steve slams the driver door shut the frame of the vehicle vibrates in responses. He shoots James an apologetic smile sometimes he forgets his own strength.

“She did, but I rather hear all the juicy and sordid detail from you, Steve wiggles his eyebrow up and down.  
  
Juicy and sordid? James shakes his head, “You need to lay-off the harlequin novels. There is nothing sordid or juicy about the other night.” As they walk across the parking lot James considers how to describe Sam. “He’s in his late twenties. Dark hair clipped close to the scalp and whiskey eyes.”  
  
“Sound kind of vague.”  
  
“We haven’t spent that much time together,” James snapped, in no mood for idle chitchat. Unmoved by James reaction, Steve crosses his arm and waits. James sighs, his partner isn’t going to give up till he’d gotten what he wanted.  The man is stubborn righteous and right now annoying as hell. “His name is Sam. He has almond-shaped eyes, a broad, flat nose, strong stubble jaw, cheekbones that could cut diamonds…and full brown lips.  
  
James didn’t like Steve lazy smile. “What’re you grinning about?”  
  
“You. You’ve got this heated look in your eyes that could melt butter.” Steve replies.  
  
“I didn’t’ pay that much attention to him. James rebuffs defensively.  
  
“You notice Sam eye shape, eye color, and the fact he has cheekbones that could cut diamonds and nice lips.” Steve points out.   
  
“I never said he had nice lips,” but that is a lie and James knew it. “I’m a cop. I’m trained to notice stuff like that.”  
  
“Uh huh. Whatever you say, man. Just let me know when you want to sit in one of my art classes at the university since you develop this artistic eyes all of the sudden.” Steve snorts waving his hand in the air like jazz hands. “Why do you think he was traveling alone in this part of Colorado in a snow storm?” Steve ask, the automatic doors open with a whoosh allowing both men to enter the impressive complex.  
  
James has been wondering the same thing. The man is a mystery. “I have no idea, he said, Sam was in no condition to answer any of my questions last night. This is why I wanted to stop by the hospital before our shift starts. I’ve got to get some details for my report,” he explains, not wanting Steve to infer any longer that he has something other than a professional interest in the man.  
  
\---  
  
Sam wipes his mouth with his napkin the unappetizing breakfast now fills his belly. His thoughts race, what is he going to do next? Sam hasn’t a fucking clue where his car is or his personal belonging for the matter. Was it still stranded on the side of the road? No, it must have been towed by now. Then there is the issue of money — or lack of because it’s been drying up faster than desert rain.  
  
James reached the simple oak door and rapped hard with his knuckles. The resonating sharp knock at his door pulls Sam out of his thoughts, he assumes it Claire with the ibuprofen and invites her in. The flirty smile freezes on his face as his visitor steps into his room _. He_  is definitely not Claire unless she decided to change gender, lose all the caramel hue to her skin, and ditch her unflattering pink scrubs for a form fitting police uniform. But Sam strongly doubts that.   
  
Sam stares, mouth agape, his expression is a mixture of horror and confusion. A police officer! His heart pounded harder as prickles of fear crept up his spine and a thousand and one question burns the tip of his tongue. “Can I help you, officer?” Forcing a warm smile, he asks with a much enthusiasm ah he could muster.   
  
“As a matter of fact, you can.” The words are ambiguous so is the officer whose eyes are hidden by the brim of eight point police hat forcing Sam to focus on a pair well sculpted pink lips.  
  
James clears his throat. “I need to ask you a few questions regarding the car accident you were in yesterday.” The officer's voice is like whiskey pour over gravel. Panic filters across Sam face for an instant before he gets it under control. His eyes narrow and his chin rose defiantly. “You can ask me anything you want. As long as you’re not trying to blame a brother. “Sam challenges smoothly. The man removes his hat. Disheveled dark brown hair is revealed, along with intense blue eyes.   _Eyes that wouldn’t let you hide many secrets._  
  
Sam shivers, wondering where that notion has come from. Then it hits him like a ton of bricks why the voice is teetering on the edge of recognition putting him at ease.“You’re the man from last night, He exclaims pieces of the puzzle finally fitting together.   
  
James pauses, then nod. “That's right. I’m Officer James Buchanan Barnes,” he says introducing himself. “I brought you in last night.”   
  
“James Buchanan Barnes, Sam repeats nose wrinkling in disbelief, your parents must hate you. What kind of name is that?”  Sam teases his tone light and James is not surprised when a bubble of laughter escapes his throat. “Well,  _Samuel_  it’s German and Romanian. What your excuse?” James shoots back surprising Sam, who didn’t think he would step up to the plate much less take a swing.  
  
“Oh. That’s how it is?” Sam grins wide his eye has a sparkle in their brown depths. He vaguely wonders how James knows his name, but the thought doesn’t linger. He assumes James learn it when he was admitted to the ER.   
  
“That’s how it is,” James confirms reaching into the top pocket, he withdrawals his notebook. Sam smile caused a familiar stirring in his groin a feeling he hasn’t felt since losing his arm. He knows he is on a dangerous slope he is very much attracted to Sam, but he still has a job to do. “Can you tell me what you remember about last night?”  
  
The lighthearted banter dissolved the tension in the room and Sam compiles. He fixes James with a steady gaze, “I was driving at the intersection of Main and Oak when a car slams into my passenger door, sending me swerving off the road.”  
  
James nods but doesn’t scribble anything down since he already knew those details. “What about the driver did you get a look at his or her face?”  
  
Sam shakes his head no. By the time, he realized what was going on his car was spinning. Sam face pinches, he tries to recall any small detail he could have missed. He flashes back to that night rewinding to the moment of impact then fast-forwarding to the moment the car is spinning over and over. What is he missing? He is about to give up when the image of a woman pops in his head. He tries to focus on her feature but there grainy like a blurred photo.  
  
“There was a girl, he finally put together after a pregnant pause. “Long brunette hair."   
  
Horrified, James blurts,” A girl! Was she on the road…in another car?” He didn’t remember seeing any girl in the red sports car, but the headlights had been blinding.  
  
 “No, no,” Sam bites his lips. “I…I’m not certain. Sorry, the night is still really a blur to me.” He confesses.   
  
James holds up his hand.”  There no need to apologize. You’re doing just fine.”  Their eyes meet, James' heart constricts at the raw vulnerability swirling in the brown pupils. James looks away first, he clears his throat and presses forward. They continue to iron out the details James asking questions and Sam answering them to the best of his ability when Steve sticks his head in the door. “Sorry to interrupted, he apologizes urgency in his voice, the owner of a red Lexus just turned himself in. "

\---  
The shed loomed unassumingly ahead. The wooden structure stood at the forefront hidden by low hanging branches with frost tip leaves. The darkness seems to lurk like a thick black mass or low hanging clouds filling the doorway of the open shed. In the backdrop, the trees are inky black silhouettes as early morning light filters through the gap in the pines cutting across the chilled winter dew like a hot knife.

Shmidt phone vibrates in his pocket the text simple reads, “Was Sie gefragt, für erfolgt.” The sender is Brock Rumlow. He sneers, it is a particularly gruesome sight. His mouth which has become shrunken and narrow curls exposing side teeth through partly dissolved lips and skin tissue.  
  
The Lexus comes to a shaky stop. Emerging from the darkness where the morning light couldn’t — wouldn’t dare to— penetrate, a figure clad in leather SS uniform stands to watch the scene unfold.  
  
The driver door creaks open, the sound of metal rubbing metal penetrates the quiet morning air overhead a murder of crow’s caw in the pines before taking flight.  
  
Shmidt exits the vehicle, his weight makes foot impression in the icy snow impressions lead to the passenger's door. He stands looking down at Wanda through the car window. Her head is bowed forward, brunette hair hangs down like curtains obscuring her face from view. He yanks the car door open, Wanda seatbelt is the only thing keeping her upright. Shmidt reaches in, unclips it, and pulls her out the car by her hair.  
  
The floorboard creak, like an old wooden rocking chair, as Schmidt drags Wanda limp body across the floor.  The shed is worn down warmth escapes through loose boards in the wall and broken window panels. The structure is a modest size equip with a sink, running water and a metal spike embed into the center of the floor. The spike has a nautical grade chain running from the base a length of 10ft. Just long enough to make it to the piss bucket in the corner and back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went through three breakups and almost file for divorce while writing this chapter. This almost took me two weeks to write because I had a hard time trying to find a balance between James and Sam budding relationship and how much I am revealing about Schmidt past.  
> Spoiler Alert.(Do not read any further if you do not want know Schmidt backstory till chapter 5)  
> Johann Shmidt is the ex-leader of a religious cult called Hydra. He has always had a hatred of women but after trying to sacrifice his wife to their god she find out and escapes by pouring acid on his face. Leaving Shmidt severely disfigured that hatred intensified. That all I am going to reveal for right now hopefully that clear up some of the confusion.
> 
> Google translate- Was Sie gefragt, für erfolgt means What you asked for is done in English.  
> Perrl is the abbreviation for pupils are equal, round, and react to light.
> 
> As always please leave a comment and or Kudos.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr, Youtube, and Google is the reason why this fic exists. 
> 
> I was on Tumblr doing my daily searches of Samsteve and Buckysam when I can upon this prompt idea of a road trip au. Needless to say I heart the fu*k out of that posting and decide to write my own version. Then after watching Pewdiepie play Until Dawn it inspired add a cabin in the woods type feel to my story. 
> 
> Things you should suspend your disbelief on in this chapter:  
> 1) I have never been to Colorado, I know diddly squat about it intersections other than what I could google about the state and even then I pretty sure I stretch the truth.  
> 2) I know basic German but anything Shmidt say was created by google translate. Halt den Mund Schlampe according to google translate as shut up bi*ch.


End file.
